"That's for the landlady," he explained. "So that when you leave she'll have somewhere to hang herself in her rage!"
"Now get me a bit of paper and a pencil," shouted Volodin.
Varvara searched in the bedroom and discovered a pencil and a piece of paper.
Volodin wrote on it: "For the landlady," and pinned the paper on the noose. He made ridiculous grimaces all the time he was doing this. Then he began to jump furiously up and down along the walls, kicking them every now and again with his boots, shaking with laughter at the same time. His squeals and bleating laughter filled the whole house. The white cat, putting back its ears in terror, peered out of the bedroom and seemed undecided where to run.
Peredonov at last managed to disengage himself from Ershova and returned to the house. Ershova really did get tired and went home to bed. Volodin met Peredonov with uproarious laughter:
"We've made a mess of the parlour too! Hurrah!"
"Hurrah!" shouted Peredonov, bursting into a loud, abrupt laugh.
The women also cried "Hurrah," and a general gaiety set in. Peredonov cried:
"Yes, let's, Ardalyosha!" replied Volodin, with a stupid grin.
They danced under the noose and kicked up their legs awkwardly. The floor trembled under Peredonov's heavy feet.
"Ardalyon Borisitch's got a dancing fit," said Prepolovenskaya with a smile.
"That's nothing new, he has his little whims," grumbled Varvara, looking admiringly at Peredonov nevertheless.
She sincerely thought that he was handsome and clever. His most stupid actions seemed to her perfectly fitting. To her he was neither ridiculous nor repulsive.
"Let's sing a funeral mass over the landlady," shouted Volodin. "Fetch a pillow here."
"What will they think of next?" said Varvara laughingly.
She threw out from the bedroom a pillow in a dirty calico slip. They put the pillow on the floor to represent the landlady and began to chant over it with wild discordant voices. Then they called in Natalya, and made her turn the ariston[1]; all four of them began to dance a quadrille with strange antics, kicking up their legs.
After the dance Peredonov felt generous. A dim, morose sort of animation lit up his plump face; he was inspired by a sudden, almost automatic decision, a consequence, perhaps, of his sudden muscular action. He pulled out his wallet, counted several notes, and with a proud self-laudatory expression, threw them towards Varvara.